


A Mug of Hot Chocolate To Go

by Persiflage



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Background Meldrew, Background Trip/Mike, Baking, Canon Disabled Character, Coffee Shops, Cooking, Cooking Lessons, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fingerfucking, Hand Jobs, Kissing, Outdoor Sex, Past Daisy/Lincoln, Past Phil Coulson/Ros Price, Picnics, Romantic Fluff, Semi-Public Sex, Slow Build, Valentine's Day, background mackelena, cakes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-23 10:57:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13786050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persiflage/pseuds/Persiflage
Summary: AU: Daisy Johnson decides to do something nice for her neighbour in the apartment next door for Valentine's Day after hearing him breakup with his ex.





	A Mug of Hot Chocolate To Go

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zauberer_sirin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zauberer_sirin/gifts).



> Written for the prompt _It’s Valentine’s Day and I’m single and you want to cheer me up but you can’t cook nor bake to save your life so you make me hot chocolate instead and it is delicious and I think I love you._ Which I got from a list of Apartment AUs quite a long time ago.

Daisy knocks on her neighbour’s door. She feels a bit silly but she’s determined to go through with this however silly she feels.

The door opens a crack and a glasses-framed eye looks at her through the gap that the chain makes, the expression frowning. She doesn’t think Mr Coulson’s frowning at her as such – his eyes have that abstracted look that suggest she’s interrupted him, and she hopes she hasn’t interrupted in the middle of something important.

“Hey,” she says softly. “I’m Daisy, your – ”

“Next door neighbour,” he says with a nod, and she hears a clink as he unhooks the chain and opens the door a bit further. “What can I do for you?” His attention focuses on the tray she’s carrying, and the mug balanced carefully thereon, then his gaze darts back up to her face. 

She’s fairly sure she’s blushing, but she goes through with her speech anyway. “I, uh, couldn’t help overhearing your, uh, breakup a few days ago.” He winces but doesn’t interrupt. “And I figured no one should be unforgotten on Valentine’s even if it is an over-commercialised – um.” She breaks off when her neighbour starts chuckling and opens his door fully.

“Come in, Daisy,” he says, and she steps inside, still carrying the tray very carefully.

He leads the way down the hallway, past several doors, and into a spacious, airy, and bright kitchen that immediately feels as welcoming to her as her best friend Trip’s. “Set that down there,” he says, indicating the table, and she does.

“You needn’t have done this, you know,” he says softly. “But thank you.”

She gives a shrug, watching him as he takes in the tray and its contents: a tall white mug like they use at the coffee shop where she works part-time, the mug full of hot chocolate and decorated around the rim with pink marshmallow hearts (it took her ages to shape them), then origami paper flowers and hearts in a circle around the base of the mug.

“Why did you do this?” he asks curiously. “We barely know each other, and it must have taken you ages.”

She shrugs awkwardly, suddenly aware that it might seem more than a bit stalkerish. “Like I said, I heard your breakup and it sounded pretty bad. And I was sort of aware that you and Ros had been together awhile. I mean, I used to pass her in the lobby downstairs or on the sidewalk outside when she was coming or going. I felt bad for you.”

“You’re something else,” he says, and then “May I?” He gestures, and she realises he wants to hug her.

“Yeah,” she says, feeling a little shy, but also charmed that he even asked her permission – most people, especially guys, don’t.

He steps into her personal space and carefully puts his arms around her, and she doesn’t hesitate to hold him back. It feels really good, and she’s kinda disappointed that he pulls away so soon, but she can tell he’s the kind of guy that respects women and doesn’t push his luck.

“I’ll leave you to it,” she tells him once he steps back. “You looked like you were in the middle of something when I came knocking.”

He nods. “I’m sure you have a date tonight to get ready for.”

She laughs weakly. “Nah. I haven’t dated anyone since last year when I ditched my shitty asshole boyfriend. I mean –” She cuts herself off, feeling chagrined, but he’s obviously not appalled by her language.

“Perhaps you’d like to have dinner with me?” he asks, sounding diffident. “Not a date, obviously. An anti-Valentine’s dinner, if you prefer?” He smirks a bit at the latter, and she can’t help feeling charmed all over again. 

“So long as it’s nothing fancy,” she says. “I’m not good at fancy – or elegant – or sophisticated.”

He doesn’t dispute her remarks, which is also refreshing, just smiles, and says, “How does soup and grilled cheese sound? That’s what I’m having.”

“Wonderful.” It sounds vastly nicer than the beans on toast she was planning for herself. “You should drink your chocolate, though, before it congeals.”

He chuckles. “Okay. Can I make you a coffee?”

“I can do that,” she says, and he raises an eyebrow, then nods, and gestures her at his rather elaborate coffeemaker. Admittedly, it’s less sophisticated than the one she deals with at work, but it’s more so than the coffeemakers you find in the average American home – which means that he must be a coffee nut.

She makes the coffee, then takes a seat across the corner from him at the table, noticing that he’s carefully removed the marshmallow hearts from the rim of his mug and set them into a neat pile on the corner of the tray.

“This is probably the nicest post-breakup thing anyone’s ever done for me,” he tells her, his expression soft and grateful, and she flushes again. 

“It’s too much, isn’t it?” she asks self-consciously. “Trip, my best friend who runs the coffeeshop where I work part time, is always telling me I don’t have to go overboard with the friendship gestures.”

“It’s not too much,” he says immediately. “I can see why you, or Trip –” He pauses, frowning, and she guesses he’s wondering about Trip’s name. “might think it is. But I don’t. It’s very kind of you, especially when we’re practically strangers.”

“Trip’s full name is Antoine Triplett,” she tells him, and he smirks, clearly amused that she’d realised he was wondering. “But everyone calls him Trip.” He nods.

“Where’s the coffeeshop?” he asks.

So she tells him about the Sunshine coffeeshop, and about Trip, and some of her regulars, while he drinks his hot chocolate, and she drinks her exceptionally good coffee. 

“I know Melinda and Andrew,” he tells her when she’s recounting an anecdote about them.

“Yeah?” she says, surprised.

He nods. “Andrew was my therapist, he looked after me after –” He looks a bit stricken, she thinks, and dares to reach over and touch his hand. She’s a bit surprised when he turns his hand over and laces their fingers together. “Can you tell they’re not real?”

She gives him a startled look, then stares at his left hand, and gently squeezes his fingers in hers. “Not at all,” she says.

He nods. “I lost my hand, well lower arm, actually, about 3 years ago.”

“What happened?” she asks, then takes it back immediately. “You don’t have to talk about it, if you’d rather not.”

He shakes his head. “Some kids got into a fight in the gym.” He pauses, then says, “I don’t know if you knew I’m a teacher?” She shakes her head, then gives him an expectant look. “Anyway, these boys were fighting, and I waded in to stop them, and in the melee, one set of wall bars got pulled down off the wall – they hadn’t been securely fixed after they’d been used earlier in the day – and my lower left arm was crushed. Nearly all the bones in my arm and hand were so badly broken, well shattered is more accurate, so they gave me a prosthetic.”

She’s a bit startled when he suddenly pulls off the tweed jacket he’s wearing, then pushes up the sleeve of his button down to show her a metal band below his elbow. “Does it hurt?” she asks, her voice a mere whisper.

“Every day,” he says, and she can tell from his reluctant tone that he doesn’t like admitting that. 

“I’m sorry,” she says, then changes the subject back to Melinda and Andrew. “I bet Andrew’s a great therapist.”

He gives her a soft smile, as if he appreciates her changing the subject. “He’s very good. After I was discharged from his care, we stayed in touch, and after I invited him to come and give our commencement address a couple of years ago, I became friends with him and Melinda.”

She nods, then resumes telling anecdotes, making him laugh, almost to the point of choking, when telling him a tale about Mack and Elena. She feels a bit embarrassed that she nearly made him choke, but he waves off her concern, and she realises that she likes Phil Coulson a lot. She’s never really interacted with him before – just seen him in passing before she heard his breakup fight with Ros. That had been nasty, and she’d been very tempted to come round and knock on his door afterwards, but she’d hesitated in case he hadn’t wanted to even deal with another person (she hadn’t wanted to interact with anyone after dumping Lincoln’s ass last year). She’d heard him crying, though, through their thin adjoining apartment wall, and she’d been shocked to her core: she isn’t really used to the concept of white men crying: black men, yes – between Trip, Mack, and Andrew, she’s grown very used to the idea of black men being unafraid to show their emotions – but she’s never seen a white man cry.

They finish up their drinks, and Coulson asks her if she wants to sit in the other room. 

“Can I stay here?” she asks. “I could stir the soup or something.”

“You don’t have to help,” he tells her, “but if you want to, you’re more than welcome.” He rolls up the sleeves of his shirt, having pulled the left one back down after showing her the metal band where his prosthetic attaches to his stump, and she rolls up the sleeves of her own button down, then she pours the soup – tomato and herb, from the scent – from the container he takes from the fridge into a saucepan, and puts it on a low heat as he instructs. 

He puts a pan onto the burner beside the one she’s using and turns it on to heat up before he gets out bread, cheese, and mayonnaise from the fridge and she watches as he makes up the sandwiches, slathering the bread with the mayo on the outside of the sandwiches.

“I’ve never seen grilled cheese made with mayo,” she tells him.

“I’m sorry, I should have asked – are you okay with it?”

“Sure.” She nods, continuing to watch him while stirring the soup.

“Grilled cheese with mayo on the outside of the bread is a Coulson tradition,” he tells her, making up a second sandwich, before dropping the first into the skillet where it sizzles energetically. He looks up at her rapt expression, and blushes a bit, and she feels as intrigued by the blush as she was by his crying following his breakup. 

It comes to her that Coulson is not the traditional white male she’s used to dealing with, and she wonders if that’s why she’s drawn to him. Because she’s beginning to realise that she is drawn to him – she wants to spend time with him, wants to talk to him about anything and everything (and more importantly, she feels as if she could), she wants him more than she’s ever wanted anyone before, and it scares her, but it exhilarates her, too. 

_Slow down, Daisy,_ she tells herself sternly as he puts the first grilled cheese sandwich onto a plate, then prepares the second one. 

When it’s holding two sandwiches the plate goes into the oven, which she’s only just realised is actually warm – she’s been too up in her own head to notice it before – and he makes two more sandwiches, while directing Daisy where to find bowls for the soup.

Within a few more minutes the soup is served up, the grilled cheese sandwiches are shared out between two plates, and Coulson sets a bowl of salad, which he must’ve prepared earlier, onto the table between them. 

“Help yourself,” he tells her, and she nods her thanks, then feels secretly relieved when he picks up one triangle of grilled cheese and dunks it into the soup. They eat in a companionable silence that startles Daisy – she’s not used to feeling so at ease with someone who’s essentially a stranger.

“Do you want another coffee?” he asks after they’ve finished eating.

She glances at her phone, then shakes her head. “No, thanks. If I have another one tonight, I’ll be too wired to sleep, and I’m starting a week of early shifts tomorrow. In fact, I should probably head back to my apartment and stop taking up your valuable time.”

“You’re not,” he says, his tone both earnest and sincere. “I enjoyed your company and am very grateful you brought me hot chocolate.”

She flushes. “Thanks for not thinking me weird for bringing it for you.”

“Never,” he says, then smirks. “Although I’m kinda surprised you brought me hot chocolate, rather than actual food.”

She chuckles nervously. “I’m not a very good cook, so I’d rather not inflict my cooking experiments on others.”

“Oh.” He looks at her very intently for a few moments, and she starts feeling awkward, then he says, rather tentatively, she thinks, “Maybe I could teach you some basics? I mean, if you want to learn to cook.”

“I’d like that,” she says, grateful for the offer. Trip’s offered to teach her a couple of times during the few months that she’s been working at Sunshine, but they basically haven’t found the time – he doesn’t have much to spare while running the coffee shop. “Thank you.”

He nods. “Okay. Why don’t you come round one afternoon after school next week, and we’ll take it from there.”

“Sure.” She gives him a slightly awkward nod, then heads for the front door of his apartment, carrying the now empty tray.

“I’ll let you have the mug back next week,” he tells her, and she chuckles. 

“No need, Phil. I’ve got several – they’re spares from work.”

He nods again, then unlatches the door and waits there as she moves across to her own door, and she laughs silently at the slight absurdity of him ‘seeing’ her to her door when it’s literally next door to his. At the same time, though, she appreciates the gesture – it’s all part of his thoughtfulness, and it gives her a warm feeling.

DJ-PC-DJ-PC-DJ

A few weeks later the staff and regulars of Sunshine go out for a Sunday afternoon picnic. It’s the Easter weekend, so there’s a chocolate, bunny, and flower-related theme to the event. Daisy is feeling both proud and nervous of her contributions: she’s made chocolate chip cookies, iced with either lambs or daisies, blueberry muffins, and something called ‘Simnel cake’, which Phil had told her was a traditionally British Easter cake. He’d had to help her with the latter as it was a bit more advanced than she’s really up to making on her own. He’s her ‘plus-one’, and has brought along chocolate Babka, a traditionally Jewish yeast cake which his maternal grandmother used to make when he was a boy, in addition to various other chocolate-flavoured goodies.

Melinda and Andrew greet Phil as an old friend, and Daisy introduces him to Mack and Elena, and Trip and Mike, who’re dating at long last. The two had been mutually pining over each other since Christmas, both too shy to make the first move, and in the end, Daisy had got them together. Mike’s brought along his son Ace, and Melinda and Andrew have brought their twin girls, who’re a year or so younger than Ace. 

They have an Easter egg hunt first, which is meant for the children, but the adults join in as enthusiastically, Daisy notices, and she’s glad she and Trip hid more than just three eggs. 

She and Phil manage to get separated from everyone else among the trees, even though Daisy knows there are no eggs hidden in the wooded area at the far end of the park, but she cannot say so without giving Phil an unfair advantage. She soon realises that their separation from the others isn’t accidental when he says her name breathlessly, then kisses her. They’ve been kissing and cuddling the last week or so, but they’ve yet to take things any further, although she’s fairly sure Phil wants to, and she definitely does. 

She pins him against a tree and kisses him eagerly, her hands soon pulling the polo shirt he’s wearing free of his shorts, and sliding up his back. He moans into her mouth and pulls her body more tightly against his, and she realises abruptly that he’s aroused, and the idea excites her a bit too much.

“Fuck, Phil,” she gasps, then grinds herself against his erection, which is frankly enormous. He moans again, then slips his hand under the short summer dress she’s wearing and rubs the pads of his fingers against her sex, which is rapidly growing wet. “Yes, yes. In me, Phil, please.”

He obeys immediately, and she can see that he likes her telling him what to do – which is not something she’s ever had with a man before. 

They kiss frantically, messily, all teeth and tongues, and noses bumping as he fingers her to an orgasm that leaves her breathless and shaky in the knees. Afterwards she slips her hand into his shorts, and moans embarrassingly loudly when she discovers he’s going commando. She curls her fingers around as much of his girth as she can, relishing the feeling of his hot, hard dick in her hand, then she begins to stroke him, and he gasps and moans her name. He buries his face in the crook of her neck as she strokes him to a shuddering climax, and she’s only half surprised when she feels his tears hot on her bare shoulder.

“Are you okay?” she asks once she’s cleaned up her hand on the wet wipes he’d produced from the pocket of his shorts.

“I’m good,” he tells her, and she smirks. 

“You’re better than good.” To her delight he blushes at the compliment and she tucks his spent cock away. She kisses him softly, then hugs him tight before pulling back and saying, “We should find the others.”

“Yeah. Can I – uh, can I see you after?”

She chuckles at his charming awkwardness. “Phil, I plan on taking you to bed and fucking you silly after this picnic.”

He blushes an even brighter red, but she can’t help noticing that his eyes look bright at the prospect. “Okay.”

She grabs his hand, the left one, and tugs his arm gently, and they make their way out of the wood and back to the picnic area. She notices that Trip and Elena are both smirking a bit when they reappear, as if they can tell that she and Phil have just spent time getting each other off in the woods, but mercifully neither one of them says anything to embarrass her and Phil.

After the eggs are all found, much of the cake and sandwiches are consumed (and the remainder shared out for ‘later’), and everyone is sprawled about replete and relaxed, Daisy starts wondering if it’s too early to head home with Phil.

Fortunately Andrew stirs and says he and Melinda need to head back soon, and that starts a general movement of tidying up and preparation to depart. Daisy finds herself heading towards the nearest trash can with Elena, and she isn’t a bit surprised when her friend asks, “So you and Phil, uh?”

“Elena, I told you three weeks ago that we were dating.”

“I know, I know,” she says, her accent becoming slightly more noticeable in her obvious excitement. “But you told me you and he hadn’t fucked yet.”

“We still haven’t,” Daisy tells her with a slight blush.

“Mmhmm. But you were up to something in the woods, no?”

The blush deepens. “Maybe,” she says cautiously.

Elena chuckles richly. “Good.” Her tone is emphatic. “I thought my Mack was a turtle man, but I think your Phil is slower, no?”

“I told you, I don’t mind taking it slow with him. Phil’s a sweet, sensitive guy – and that’s not something I’m used to.”

“I know, chica. He’s good for you, I think. Better than that –” She breaks off, shakes her head, then mutters in Spanish, and Daisy thinks she might be cursing out Lincoln. They dump their trash, then start back towards their friends. “I’m glad you’ve found a decent man at last.”

“Me too, Elena, me too.”

DJ-PC-DJ-PC-DJ

Phil’s arms are tight around Daisy’s torso as they ride back to their apartment block on Daisy’s motorbike, and she swears he’s aroused again: she’s fairly sure she can feel his erection pressing against her ass, and the thought makes her wet all over again.

She parks her bike in their building’s underground lot and while she secures the bike and puts their helmets into her locker, Phil liberates the goodies they’ve brought back from the picnic – nothing they’d baked has come back with them: in fact the Simnel cake had proved wildly popular, to Daisy’s surprise. Then they ride up to their floor, circumspect in their simmering desire for each other as they don’t have the elevator to themselves.

They head to Daisy’s apartment, and barely make it through the door before Phil’s dumped the box of baked goodies somewhere and has his hands in her hair and his mouth, hot and insistent, on hers as he pushes her back against the door she’s just locked.

“There’s a perfectly good bed not too far away,” she tells him, gasping for air when he finally releases her mouth.

He blushes beautifully, and looks apologetic, but she cuts him off before he can say anything, shoving her right index finger into his mouth, which he sucks very hard, making her moan. She wonders if he’s the sort of man who enjoys oral – because she really wants his wickedly good mouth on her sex.

They make it into her bedroom, somehow, and then they pause, staring at each other wordlessly and almost shyly, Daisy thinks, despite that interlude in the woods.

“May I?” Phil asks, and she nods quickly when he gestures at her shoes. He undresses her with a sort of tenderness which makes her breathless in a different way to the manner in which his kisses and fingering had made her breathless earlier. Then she gets him out of his clothes, and he slips his hand into hers, so she guides him over to the bed, and they settle onto it together, lying on their sides and facing each other.

She leans in to kiss him – not in a mad rush, but more in a savouring mood, and he begins to touch her, his left hand skimming a lot more lightly over her skin than his right until she clasps his wrist and brings his fingers to her mouth. He looks utterly gobsmacked when she starts sucking on his prosthetic fingers, but his surprise soon melts into desire, and she smirks, then brings his hand between her thighs. 

“Touch me, Phil,” she begs, and he groans softly, then obeys, and she gets that thrill again from him obeying her. She doesn’t think he’s a true submissive – but it’s clear he likes a sexual partner who knows what they want.

DJ-PC-DJ-PC-DJ

It’s early evening before they finally leave Daisy’s bed, and take it in turns to shower, then make their way into her kitchen to get some food.

“Where did you leave that box of baked goodies left over from the picnic?” she asks as she looks around the kitchen.

Phil chuckles. “By the front door.” 

He wanders off to retrieve it and she can’t help watching him go. He’s wearing a t-shirt and a thong of Daisy’s since he doesn’t have any underwear of his own to hand, and it ought to look silly – him wearing her underwear, but it doesn’t. It just looks really hot and sexy, and she finds herself wanting him all over again.

He comes back in with the box, and when he sees the way she’s looking at him – with obvious interest, she’s sure – he blushes a bit, and she smirks a little, then beckons him over.

“You’re a different kind of guy than I’m used to being around,” she says, sliding a hand up his arm, then drawing his body against hers. “Softer, more sensitive, and I just want you to know that I really like it. I’m really glad you’re not more macho. I don’t think I’d have fancied you if you were.”

He hugs her back. “I couldn’t be macho if I tried,” he tells her. “Well, I have tried, and it was very laughable.”

She kisses him softly. “Don’t ever try with me, Phil. I like you just the way you are.”

“Duly noted,” he says in a deadpan tone, and she chuckles.

“I don’t know about you, but I’ve had enough sweet things to eat today. How about soup and grilled cheese for supper?”

His face lights up. “Sounds delicious.”

“Good.” She kisses him again, then wonders if it’s a good idea – she can feel his cock stiffening, and is pretty sure he’ll fall out of her thong if he gets a full erection. “Okay, food,” she says in a determined tone. “We need to refuel before we fuck again.”

“Yeah.” His tone is dreamy, and he’s looking at her with what she’s come to categorise as his ‘heart eyes’. 

She pulls away purposefully, then moves over to the fridge for the container of chilled soup and the cheese, and Phil begins getting out pans and plates.

As they work together she remembers their first meeting – their anti-Valentine’s not-date, and she blesses her impulse to bring her neighbour a mug of hot chocolate as a way of commiserating with him over his breakup with his previous girlfriend. It was definitely a good decision.


End file.
